


47 Days

by inksheddings



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Established Relationship, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inksheddings/pseuds/inksheddings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he'd seen Phil sitting there, at a table in a fucking S.H.I.E.L.D. conference room, Clint had turned around and walked right out, not believing in ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	47 Days

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be nothing but porn, but it didn't work out that way. So it's a little porn, a little angst (I've had a rough day), and a little hope in a fairly small package.
> 
> Beta'd by whymzycal, whom I adore.

** 47 Days **

 

Before Phil has a chance to say much of any goddamn thing, Clint locks the door and backs him up against the wall, kissing him quiet. Clint pushes his tongue into Phil's mouth and his knee between his legs, leaving no room for argument. He keeps his hands on Phil's shoulders and holds him still against the wall. 

It's obvious that physically, Phil isn't operating at one hundred percent, and the grunt of pain he lets out is the real thing. Clint doesn't give a fuck. If Phil didn't want this, then he shouldn't have followed Clint up to his quarters. He shouldn't have come back from the dead. It's been 47 days of Phil being dead and Clint occasionally wishing he'd gone down with him, so Clint really does not care if pain is Phil's primary response to Clint's fucking him through the wall.

Clint moves down Phil's throat, biting and licking and thrusting his knee against Phil's groin. Phil isn't hard yet, but Clint knows how to rectify that. He drops to his knees and starts working on Phil's pants.

"Clint, wait—"

"I've waited 47 days. Fuck waiting." Clint gets Phil's pants open and tugs them down along with his boxers. Phil isn't fighting him, even though Clint isn't holding him in place anymore. Clint isn't sure how he feels about that and, for the first time since Fury sprang Coulson on the team not fifteen minutes ago, Clint pauses to take a breath. When he'd seen Phil sitting there, at a table in a fucking S.H.I.E.L.D. conference room, Clint had turned around and walked right out, not believing in ghosts.

"I know, Clint, and I want—"

Clint shuts him up by licking Phil's dick. Once it's good and wet he starts jacking it. He looks up at Phil. "You think I care about what you want? You're dead, Phil. Or as good as." 

Clint starts sucking Phil's dick, all the way down, and presses his hands against Phil's hips. Phil doesn't say another word, lets Clint do as he pleases, but after several minutes he's only half hard and Clint isn't hard at all. 

He let's Phil's dick slip from his mouth and leans his forehead against Phil's stomach. "Jesus, what am I doing?" he asks. Clint doesn't expect an answer, but he feels one of Phil's hands in his hair, fingers combing through. Clint's hands start to shake, right there on Phil's body. Phil has to feel that, but Clint doesn't move them away.

"I asked myself that several times a day, after I woke up," Phil says.

Clint looks up at Phil, who still has a hand in Clint's hair and an expression on his face that Clint could have gone without for another 47 days. "I can't talk about this," Clint says. "Not now." Instead, Clint pulls Phil's boxers and pants back up, zips and buttons but loses the battle with the belt. He tugs it out and throws it on the floor. 

Clint should stand up. The floor is hard on his knees and it's cold. But he can't move. His hands, in his lap now, aren't shaking anymore, but he's not so sure his legs won't start if he tries to stand. Phil joins him on the floor instead, sliding down the wall and ending up cross-legged in front of Clint. "Okay, then we won't talk about it," Phil says.

But Clint can't help but say "Just ... just tell me it wasn't your call. Waiting this much time to let me know wasn't your call."

Phil is quiet, but he lifts Clint's chin up so they're face-to-face, and it's such a familiar gesture that Clint forgets for a second and nearly leans in to kiss Phil again. When Phil opens his mouth to answer, Clint panics and does kiss him, nearly as hard as when they'd first come through the door, but ends it quickly. "Either way," Clint says, "I'm gonna be pissed at you for a while yet."

"Okay," Phil says, and Clint's anger ramps back up a notch. Phil was never this agreeable when he was alive.

Clint starts to laugh because the alternative is finding Phil's wound underneath that button-down shirt and tracing whatever path sutures must have left behind. Maybe he'd even press against it, listen to Phil catch his breath in lingering pain because if it hurts — if Clint can see that it hurts — then, yeah, Phil's alive. Clint doesn't think, however, that's a good road to start down on.

Clint shuffles over to Phil's side, so now they're both sitting against the wall, shoulders barely touching. He has no clue what happens next, not even in the next ten seconds, but Phil hasn't tried to leave and Clint doesn't want to kick him out. Phil presses a little closer and Clint lets him. That'll have to do for now. 

 

**end**


End file.
